Girl

Chapter 1

My dirty little secret: I’ve fallen in love with a girl whose name I do not know. Whose voice has never graced my ears. Whose face I’ve only glimpsed at in the rare, lucky moments in which I’ve been able to clear a view for my eyes in between the large masses of intricately moving bodies that ever-presently surround her.

   I first saw her at a ballroom dance, one of the most popular in town, moving with an overwhelming fever, one that was dark and haunting, yet easy and relaxed all the same. She danced with poise and grace and style around the ballroom, floating from one awestruck male to the next as they struggled to keep up with her quick, calculated pace. Past the crowds of envy-eyed girls who brooded and fumed as they watched their potential fellows, quite literally, topple over one another in hopes of a dance, word, single look of this mesmerizing, beautiful girl.

  And as I stood there, utterly still because I’d completely forgotten to occupy myself, I realized that this hypnotic girl had already, in the few short minutes that she’d been there, gripped the hearts of almost all the men in the room and crushed them into the floor with the heel of her black, stilted shoe. Mine, however, was heavily guarded and surrounded by layer after layer of metaphorical wall that I’d built too long ago to remember. Yet this mysterious stranger had managed to penetrate my nearly impenetrable protection and is chipping away at my already cracked, cold, bitter heart.

   Tonight is the fourth night I’ve seen this girl, who I still do not know but whose feet continue to dance atop the rubble remains of my former defenses. I watch her closely because her sight is the only pleasure I should ever—can ever—be allowed. My eyes follow her liquid steps across the polished, tile floor and the sway of her long arms and dark, midnight hair. I watch the lazy swishes of her black dress as she twirls around her dumbstruck admirers and newfound enemies.

    I fantasize of dancing with her, next to her, anywhere remotely close to her. I imagine hearing her voice for the first time, learning her name. And then, of course, I mentally kick myself because I can’t possibly act on these thoughts. However bare and vulnerable this girl has left me, I know I am anything but. The small crowd of giggling females to my side proves this, reminding me of my pathetic reputation at these events. Of just how masked and manipulative I really am.

    No. I could never pursue someone as innocent and spectacularly significant as she. The others were different; they were faceless figures, meaningless and hollow and just as sneaky as I am. Even after my few sightings of her, my nonexistent conversations with her, I can tell that she is much more to me already than anyone else ever was or ever could be.

   And this is why I must not, under any twisted, coincidental circumstances at all, get involved with this girl. Who seems to be crushing my bitterness with each distancing thought that becomes my weak intention. With each false vow that I will never fulfill.

   Because how can I resist? I am cruel. Deceitful. And sometimes I stoop lower that imaginably possible.

   It could be the dimmed lights that make any hope seem like a possible reality. Or maybe it’s the fact that I am more than capable of keeping up with her flawless movements—more so, at least, than any other man here. Or, most likely, it’s because I am too selfish to stop myself. Whatever the reason, I dance. I glide with purpose across the room, after her, making sure her swishing dress is always in my line of sight until she is so close I can smell her sweet perfume.

   But this still isn’t enough, not even remotely. So I sidestep a flirtatious blonde, who’s been shadowing me all night, and catch my girl mid-twirl. I don’t waste a split second. I take her waist and hand and guide her skillfully, circling around the ballroom. I spin her at the oddest of times, wanting to ruffle her, just to see if I can.

   Our bodies move in sync, molding together like water. We seem to be made for each other; her beautifully elegant frame fits perfectly in the crooks of my own. The moment seems to be flawless, yet I feel the heavy presence of foreshadowing, knowing that this dance is where our interactions must end. Knowing that I have already crossed my boundaries. But it feels so terribly intimate and amazingly sincere, considering my usual self, that I also know I will never be able to resist.

    As the music slows to a tempo fit for talking, I dare say, “You dance very well.”

   Her laugh is a chord. “Likewise,” she answers.

  And her voice is a symphony.

   We are swaying and sidestepping and she is twirling, and I think I may very well be the most fortunate man that has ever known privilege.

   “I never caught your name,” I say, proud that my voice doesn’t waver from my excitement.

   “I never gave it,” she answers. Another lilting laugh, and my senses are on fire. “But if you must know, I don’t have a name.”

   I momentarily falter because I don’t quite understand this news. She must see the confusion on my face because she verifies:

   “I don’t have a single name; I am known by many.”

   “What should I call you, then?”

   She ponders this for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. And then, “Indi,”

   I stay silent a moment because I am still processing that I have finally been told this perfect girl’s name and that it is the single most beautiful word I have ever heard.

   And then I smile to show that I like her pick, for I cannot trust my voice.

   “I am also known as Vinn, Lena, Adella, Riley, Ren, Ani, April, Vi, Violet, and Brin,” she says matter-of-factly.

   “Beautiful,”

   “Thank you,” And I know I’ve struck something deep inside her, making me obnoxiously pleased and thrilled, and guilty.

   We continue to dance, ignoring all the prodding, envious eyes until Indi speaks once more. “What should I call you?”

   I waver, not wanting to tell her the same name I present to the faceless figures. And then I decide that this will be a rebirth of sorts for me. A new name. A hopefully new reputation. I want to be good for Indi. I want to be everything that I haven’t found reason to be before.

   “Alex,” It’s special. Just for her.

   “Nice,” she says, and I silently bask in her approval.